


Physical

by WindwiseWords



Series: Clone Culture [3]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Card Games, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Kel Dor are not vocal, but they feel just as strongly. Wolffe and Plo Koon share a difficulty.





	Physical

**Author's Note:**

> So can you all tell I love these two? Sorry for an OOCness on Wolffe's part, but it's a strange situation. Blastcap will be appearing again, and causing shenanigans don't worry.

Kel Dor rarely outwardly spoke of emotional situations or problems. Considered barbaric to voice complaints unless physical distress rose from a situation, most relied on the physical symptoms of stress to portray their problems or discomforts.

That said, being a Kel Dor on a mostly-if-not-all human ship, those signs often went unseen until critical. Plo Koon sheltered away his emotions, pushing them into the Force more than dwelling, but that particular morning when he awoke an overwhelming, chest-crushing feeling seeped into his limbs outward from his core.

Kel Dor were not particularly verbal, but physical. With claws and tusked sensory organs, careful practices of touch were critical to ensure nobody got cut or stabbed. He found a sharp desire to simply exist close with an individual, and settled for hugging a pillow and allowing himself ten more minutes in a warm bed. Small luxuries did not lead to the dark side.

 

Ten minutes turned into two hours. Wolffe obsessively checked the clock on his HUD again. With a hidden sigh he allowed himself two moments of panic before crushing it down for the umpteenth time that morning.

“Get those crates moving, Blastcap. I don’t want any of the Shinies playing with bombs.” He snapped out at a trooper, who was known to take instruction well. IF you barked. His laid-back behavior was great for his work but under lack of pressure he grew lazy.

“Yes sir.” A plain answer, for a plain job. “Sir, you’re doing it again. I’m going to diffuse your foot.” The trooper put his hands on his hips and imitated the foot-tapping. “All day, sir. All morning you’ve been doing that. All due respect, but I’ll keep doing this if you get the hells out of here with the tapping.”

Wolffe was speechless. Tapping his foot was unsightly of him, and embarrassment froze him in place until the trooper shooed him out by shoving him for the door. “Soldier!” He scolded, not liking random touch too much from a ‘strange’ trooper.

“Out. Out of my explosives. Go get some downers or something to eat or whatever you grump about in your spare time.” The trooper fixed him with a stare and shut the door to the storage room.

Protocol demanded he send someone else to help him, safety reasons, but Blastcap was good at his work. He’d be fine. Wolffe headed for the mess hall, not fond of any kind of suppressants, and decided to once again see if the General had shown up for breakfast.

Not mask or robe of him, and he asked every trooper there. All the same: no general, no messages. A Shiny said he went to leave a tray by the door to his quarters, but nobody had gone to check. Meditation perhaps, but then he would’ve left a note on the door.

 

The Shiny didn’t say it was unlocked. Wolffe stared at the green light on the panel, thumb brushing over it. Once his quarters, he eagerly gave them up so Plo would have more space. Jedi didn’t have many things, but he wished his general to be comfortable. Usually if he were to settle in for a longer meditation, the atmosphere would change and the door would display a yellow light and be manually opened.

Wolffe knocked, but no reply. No telepathic nudge to go away, no com link, no soft call. He took two strides down and listened against the wall for any sort of activity in the bathroom. No shower, no strange warbles.* Wolffe pushed the door button and stepped in, sliding the lights up a touch to see in the room. A dark aura settled in, something gloomy like a rainy day on Kamino.

“General Plo.” A statement, not a question. A wad of cushion, one of Plo’s few indulgences, disguised the Kel Dor well among mute brown-red tones. “General.”

“Not now, Wolffe.” The words were soft, and Wolffe ignored them to advance a few steps and check to make sure his mask hadn’t been taken or something equally horrible. The mask was there in the low light.

“Sir.” He prompted again, unable to just leave him without knowing what ailed his general so much he was two hours late to the mess.

“Commander.” Plo replied, a slight edge to his voice. Wolffe froze, hearing that only when Wolffe doted too much on his importance, or threw himself in front of shots for his Jedi. Plo respected life equally, including their lives.

“If you are sick, sir, I can call a medic.” If he was really sick, they’d have to go to Dorin as a clone medic wouldn’t know where to start with his biology.

“I’m fine, Commander.”

“All due respect, sir, you’re pouring off something that I can feel.” Maybe it was Plo’s force, but regardless of what the comment forced him to roll over and look at Wolffe. A silent battleground formed between Commander that worried and General that didn’t work enough about himself.

“It’s nothing I cannot handle.” Plo felt something rather primal in his chest. He needed contact, needed Wolffe right there where the pillow crushed up against his chest rested, needed—

No. He couldn’t need any of that. He tried to push the feelings out into the Force again, release himself from them. The simple action he did many times before made Wolffe flinch and remove his helmet. The agonized look across his face, the sympathetic stare made Plo’s heart sink.

“Is it that bad that you can feel it, Commander?” Soft again, those words.

“I…” He couldn’t just feel the pressure of things, but feel the emotions he was pushing away. They hung like dark clouds about his commander. He knew those feelings intimately: loneliness, separation, anxiety. “Sir… If I may speak freely?”

Plo regarded the request carefully. Wolffe may say something culturally insensitive, or offensive, and set this off more. Wolffe also read every scrap of information on Kel Dor the instant he learned his assignment to one.

He took his chances. “Go ahead, Commander.”

Wolffe took several moments to collect his words. “I understand that feeling. Those feelings. I may not have your Force but I do the same thing, kind of.” Freely speaking he sounded more natural, awkward with his words. A deep breath, making Plo almost smile. He tried so hard for his General. “Pushing them aside, away, or down. But they sometimes leak out sir. Like that shuttle in hangar 3. And no matter what you do to stop it, you must… Empty some of it, otherwise it’s a big mess.” He paused, and Plo Koon watched him make a quick note to get that shuttle checked. Again. Always working.

The words meant lots to Plo, getting his stoic commander to share his own coping process. He struggled with a lot of self-worth issues from his injury and Plo never forced him to talk about it. After moments of silence, he excused himself quietly and backed slowly, awkwardly toward the door.

“Commander.”

“Yes sir?” The reaction was instant. The aura changed: apprehensive.

“Sit.” Plo Koon gestured to not the typical chair Wolffe used when they had their talks, but to the corner of the bed. Wolffe’s instincts screamed regulations but he ignored them and settled on the bed.

More silence, and Wolffe began to fidget just as Blastcap told him he’d been doing. Plo tilted his head and raised a taloned finger to point.

“Sorry sir...”

“No, Wolffe, I was…Curious about that. Many clones do it under stress. What bothers you?”

You do, sir, he thought privately. “My general is not well and will not tell me what is wrong. I am also out of code by sitting on my general’s bed while he’s in it.” Clipped, to the point, almost sarcastic, but Wolffe’s eye betrayed his concern.

“My ailments of emotions. You can feel those?”

“Yes sir.” Emotions, rare for Plo Koon to struggle with outwardly. Wolffe turned to face him more openly. “It’s strange to see you so… Upset.”

Upset. That was this strange feeling that ate at his chest. Loneliness caused him to be upset.

“I suppose it would be. On my home world this would be considered a horrible mood, and I would be avoided. And yet here you are.” There he was, ignoring all signs to go away just to ensure Plo was alright. Some of the dark clouds faded if only slightly. “I confess I’m not doing the best. I was thinking this morning, on you and your brothers.”

Wolffe tightened up his posture. “If they’ve done anything to anger you sir—” A soft chuckle and a raised hand stopped that thought in its tracks.

“No Commander, you all are doing splendidly as always. I was recalling the times I’ve spent afternoons in the barracks, or the gymnasium with your brothers. You all express a good deal of contact with each other, small touches.”

Wolffe was confused, Plo saw it in his eye. They did make a lot of small contacts, from brushing close to each other all the way to full on dogpiles in the barracks. Heaps of troopers reading off the same papers or watching the same data stream.

“Does that bother you, sir?” The question was loaded; Wolffe was bristled. Plo realized he hit a nerve, and tried his best to backpedal before he lost his Commander. If that happened he’d be alone again, and that may actually make him ill. A selfish need.

“Not at all, Wolffe. Be calm.” Wolffe’s ‘hackling’ relaxed. “I simply observed that even those closest to me, you, Boost, Sinker… Rarely have you even attempted to show such small affections. I was curious as to why.”

Wolffe’s turn to backpedal from his earlier anger. Like a ton of bricks, he realized his General’s problem, and began to reach out instinctively.

Only to stop, hand just before him, and slowly he pulled back. Deep in Plo’s mind, something cried out in annoyance and anger, but that he shoved down deep.

“Commander—”

“It’s just that we don’t see you wanting to be touched. Especially not by…” Not by clones. “Not by the likes of us. We’re…Dirty compared to you.”

A moment went by where Plo was unsure if he meant dirty as in cleanliness or honor. Both he shot down as ridiculous.

“Commander.” Plo’s turn to reach out, offering him a little more than half way. “I confess in my darkest times I feel a sort of jealousy of your closeness with your brothers. At my best, I am honored you think of me so highly, but it’s simply not true. We’ve fought together on the same fields and have done the same things. Some brilliant, some horrendous, but that is war.”

Wolffe again reacted so instinctually that when his hand actually touched Plo’s he froze up, clearly resisting the urge to jerk it back.

Plo was warm, just like he was when Wolffe had hugged him before. Comforting, the feeling of sort of dry skin was comforting, and he made note to make sure the medics made more of that oil he used.

“I’m not sure how to inform the troopers of this, sir. Example may be best.”

“Inform them?” Inform them that Plo was a creature that needed contact, approval, just as any other? “Yes, I believe you’re right. I also do not know what all the contacts mean. But I will try to learn.”

Wolffe opened his mouth to say more, but his communicator lit up. Apologetically he released the light grip he had on his General and answered it. Blastcap complaining about Shinies in his materials again.

“Answer it. I will be out shortly, in the barracks.”

“I’ll hold you to that sir. A Shiny left food outside, you should eat as well.”

“Alright, Commander.”

A sort of awkward parting happened. Plo didn’t want him to go and Wolffe was more than happy to stay, but they had to split apart. Wolffe did put the tray inside, so he could eat in peace without having to shuffle his mask about.

 

True to his word, Plo appeared in the barracks much later. In the light he was a paler color than usual and that alerted most of the troopers that something was wrong. Many didn’t ask but their eyes tracked him with nervous apprehension. Several assumed their General was sick or worse.

Wolffe knew, and as the General approached him in his bunk, the trooper slid over without even looking up from his documents. It took Plo a few seconds to realize he was supposed to sit down next to Sinker and Boost, who were piled there atop Wolffe and watching a movie. They were surprised at first when Plo tried to peek over at their screen, and just ended up tugging him closer with smiles.

It was a revelation to the others. Weird stares predominated but over time, starting with the Shinies, a sort of pile formed around Plo and his Wolfpack. One went so far as to lean against Plo’s leg, another resting a hand over his calf, and soon those on off shift just settled into quiet chatter and activities around their general and commander.

Plo’s color improved almost instantly, much to the amazement of the medics, and Wolffe barely cracked a smile.

A Shiny eventually grew fidgety and looked up at Plo, who instantly looked at the new trooper. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

The trooper fished around in his belt and offered a pack of playing cards. “Would you like to play?” The Shiny’s squad began to sit up, troopers shuffling to make room for an old crate. They all sat around it, packed together, and left a gap for Plo and their teammate. Plo glanced to Wolffe, who just smiled into his papers, and waved his pen.

“Go on, Sir. Just don’t let them cheat you out of your dessert ration.” Plo chuckled at that one and settled down on the floor, kneeling as opposed to the various positions of the troopers.

The cards were passed to him and he took them with interest. “Senior officer shuffles, sir.” Plo glanced at the cheeky Shiny, all smiles that he was the one that got the stoic Plo to play with them.

“Alright. I assume there’s rules against mind games?” A small bit of humor that made the older troopers laugh.

“No sir…” The Shiny spoke hesitantly, recalling the rules he learned from the others.

“Well this should be interesting then.” Plo shuffled up the cards, throwing in a bit of flare to awe the new troopers. For once he felt like part of the pack, rather than the peak of it staring down. As he dealt out the cards, he looked up at the troopers, and shrugged. “I’ve never played…”


End file.
